


Shatter Star

by kingcael



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: :(, Episode Ignis Spoilers, Gen, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9234125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingcael/pseuds/kingcael
Summary: 1. An omen. She shouldn't have seen it.2. A patchwork of failed fragments. He shouldn't have seen it.3. An ally. The rules. He remembers it.A fic exploring the ideas based around the time loop theory, and how Regis is coping with that.





	1. Omen

_M.E. 736_

_30th August_

 

It had been over five years since Regis had lit a cigarette. And now this was the second in as many days.

Cid’s lighter was still a comforting weight in his pocket; a reminder of those days and some way for him to cling to his youth. A foolish thought, especially in current circumstances. The storm outside was battering the windows, an early chill to the autumn.

\--

He had woken with a start, fragments of that dream-nightmare- that _omen-_ still piercing his mind. Blindly, he reached out to Aulea, hands shaking.

Aulea’s side of the bed was cold.

It didn’t take long to track her in the castle, several of the night guard had reported that she was acting strangely, and the watchtower guard had been knocked unconscious with a candelabra.

The door to the peak of the citadel was flapping open in the wind, battering against the stairwell.

Aulea faced the storm, wearing her white wedding dress.

"Lea? What are you doing?" Regis could guess, she would often want to watch the storms in the south from the safety of the Citadel, but never in the middle of the night, and certainly not without his company. The guard was troublesome too, he could only assume that was her handiwork. "You... you shouldn't be out here. The baby--"

“I saw it! I saw it in your dream!” She spoke to the storm, keeping her back to him. 

“My dream? I—“

“You’re going to raise our boy to slaughter!” With that, she whipped around, and he saw her face, distraught, pained,  _angry._

Regis swallowed thickly, his hands slowly lowering to his sides. The Ring was warm on his finger, still holding fire from the blaze of his dream. She said it so plainly, isn’t that exactly what he was going to do if that dream came true?

“Lea… Lea, that’s not true…” he said softly, as if he could convince himself along with her. She was too close to the edge. Gusts teased at her robe, and her dress writhed and flickered.

The dawn was nearly upon them, and Aulea’s white dress seemed to glow against the backdrop of the storm to the south. Regis had a fleeting vision of the rain falling in black drops, painting her dress black like the lines on the face of the man in his dream.

“If a king must die for Lucis, let it be you!” She was frantic, clutching the roundness of her stomach, defensively now, not gentle as she had been for the past eight months. She gestured behind her, at the city, at the storm. “Let Insomnia know what a wretch their king is! A coward who would push the responsibility of the light on his son!” Aulea swayed with the wind, and Regis remembered the time she had fallen off the highest structure at the playground and broke her wrist when they were nine.

“I won’t let him live with you,” Aulea’s eyes narrowed, and her anger was cold. “It is better to take him now, than to let him live only to be murdered by his father.”

Her intentions became clear to him too quickly, but not quickly enough to grab her.

She fell.

She _jumped._

A noise rushed in Regis’ ears. Was it his heartbeat? Hers? Their son’s? His sword was in his hand before he knew what he was doing, and he threw it with all his might to the ground, tearing through Aulea’s dress and narrowly missing her. She had looked like an angel, with the fabric flowing around her, and he had just severed one of her beautiful wings.

The warp felt tainted somehow, the usual streaks of magic that teased around his face burned, the wind became his enemy. Every cerulean spark bloomed and weaved idly past, whispering to him.

Closer, and he could almost see her face.

Closer, and he could feel her tears strike his cheeks and lips.

Closer, her hands, the swell of their unborn son.

A hasty Protect spell around her that shattered as soon as it was formed.

He caught her as she hit the ground.

The noise.

That was what he couldn’t forget.

\--

Regis’ hands trembled uncontrollably as he plucked the cigarette from his lips. Ash tumbled from the end of it, landing on his shoe and leaving a white streak. The sound of rain drowned out any of the noises from inside the room, and he just stood there in the hall. He vaguely sensed Clarus’ presence, hovering beside him like an anxious sentinel.

When Clarus’ own son was born, it was a happy affair, and Aulea was with them, smiling and laughing and exclaiming her own excitement for their own children. _Children._ She had wanted three.

The doctors took her into that room and shut the door. Clarus nearly had to grapple Regis to get him to release Aulea’s hands, and now they stood together uncomfortably. Twice he heard Clarus begin to speak, but he apparently couldn’t find the words. No doubt seeing his king, his leader, his best friend reduced to a howling mess moments ago was keeping any words from forming.

A cry sounded over the rain- a baby.

Regis heart leapt, and he dropped his cigarette. Clarus’ hand gripped Regis’ shoulder, and their eyes met briefly. Regis’ voice was stuck in his throat, he could only manage a short intake of breath.

The door opened, and the baby’s cries continued. Matron Izunia, a woman he had known his entire life, stepped into the hallway.

“A boy,” she said quietly, her wrinkled hands bloody. She looked Regis in the eyes and tried to force a smile to her face. “He looks just like you did.”

“Not like his mother?” Regis asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. How he wished their new son was in her image- he could be raised far away, away from that fate, the destiny his father would inflict on him. He would never know what a _wretch_ his father was, and would cherish his mother every time he looked in the mirror. “Please… tell me… he looks like her?”

Matron Izunia shook her head, and swept her hand into the room. “Go look.”

Regis’ steps were slow, hoping that if he delayed, perhaps the doctors would whisk away his wife and son, far away from him where he couldn’t hurt them.

The baby’s cries had ceased. It was better when he cried, so Regis knew for certain he was alive.

Aulea was lying flat on her back, cooing softly at their son, despite the impossible amount of blood staining her dress and bed. Half her face was covered in bandages, perfect white quickly being overtaken by the red. She held the baby close to her, planting tiny kisses on his head, where already a swirl of black hair tickled her lips.

Regis stopped, tears already threatening to fall as he stared at his wife. He dared not to think what she might do, holding their child so close.

_“It is better to take him now, than to let him live only to be murdered by his father.”_

Aulea glanced up, and stared Regis directly in the eye. Her grip on the baby tightened, as did her expression, before relaxing again. Weakly, she gestured for him to join them. Regis did so immediately, taking three quick steps before falling to his knees at her bedside.

“The man from your dream…” Aulea whispered, her voice punctuated by wheezy breaths. “He poisoned me. He poisoned my mind.”

Regis couldn’t reply, tentatively placing his hand on his son’s back. Aulea’s fingers touched his and they cradled their son together.

“He saw me. He told me terrible things. Terrible things, my love,” Aulea sucked in a rattling breath, shuddering. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I hurt you, I almost—“ She broke off, wincing and crying out in pain.

Regis reached forward, and ran his fingers across her jawline, blinking away tears to see her better. “My star, my love… It is… it is alright,” he murmured, letting his hand ghost over her face. “You will recover… you must.” Already his voice had cracked, and tears fell freely.

“Noctis,” Aulea said softly. “’This little boy is going to follow you around like a little shadow’, right?”

“Noctis…” Regis repeated, studying his son’s little pink face. “Beautiful.”

“My love, will you tell me that poem again?”

“Of- of course,” he gasped, and heard the door behind him close. The storm raged on, thrashing against the windowpane like someone was throwing rocks. Aulea still smelled of her soft perfume, and Regis drank in the smell, closing his eyes for a moment to pretend his wife wasn’t bleeding to death in his arms.  

Her favourite poem, too appropriate now… but still, he recited, his voice stumbling over the words.

_“…but our love it was stronger by far than the love,_

_Of those who were older than we—_

_Of many far wiser than we—_

_And neither the angels in Heaven above,_

_Nor the demons down under the sea,_

_Can ever dissever my soul—“_

Regis stopped, unable to breathe, to swallow, to look away from how still she was, with eyes still fixed firmly on him.

“ _M-my soul… from the soul… of…_ ”

Noctis began to cry, sensing something unnatural in his mother’s embrace. Shaking, Regis gathered Noctis up in his arms, and held him close, cradling his head under his chin, humming a soft tune. Noctis fidgeted momentarily, until the thrum of Regis’ voice calmed him.

The sun peeked through the clouds, announcing the arrival of a new day. From where he sat, the light of the pink sun cast a dark shadow over Noctis in his arms, and over Aulea’s body.

Shaking his head, trying desperately to halt his tears, Regis turned on the spot, letting the sunlight wash over Noctis. A wish. A wish for his son to live in the light. To avoid that future told in his dreams.

His son, the little shadow.

 


	2. The Places Where His Father Cried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Restart. Find the happy end. May the Gods forgive me.

 

The crystal’s edges cut, but healed him as they did. Noctis wanted to cry out, but the pain was gone as soon as he felt it. He almost wished the pain would stay so he knew it was happening at all.

 

Bahamut had left him in reflection, where vague memories nudged against his consciousness, passing in front of him like Prompto waving a photograph in his face. His heart ached when he thought of Prompto, and that thought led to Ignis, and Gladio, and the Regalia.

 

Losing the Regalia felt like losing his dad again. He wondered if that was how his dad had looked- crumpled, dented, weary. Defeated. Did he cry? Noctis wondered, recalling the one time he had seen his father weep. It was such an indistinct memory, those tears might have been rain. Maybe when that Marilith thing had almost killed him. But even that was mostly panic.

 

The crystal cut him again, right across the bridge of his nose, but this time the cut remained, and Noctis looked up. The tiny Carbuncle figure rotated in midair before him. It must have slipped out of his front pocket at some point. He always kept it in his front left pocket, because of one of those stories his dad would tell. One time when his dad was out journeying with his friends, a stray bullet from an MT had hit him right in the heart, but he was saved by his best friend’s lighter in that pocket. It was a cautionary tale that Noctis took to heart.

 

Slowly, Noctis raised his hand to catch the Carbuncle, misjudging the distance in the strange ether and only grazing it, sending it spinning away.

 

“No!” Noctis reached out, snatching the figure out of the air and wincing as the sharp edges pierced his fingers. Strange. Carbuncle had never been sharp. He thought he heard that familiar chirrup from between his closed fingers and he opened them, grimacing at the smears of blood across Carbuncle’s bevelled surface.

 

In a moment, he was standing in the throne room in Insomnia, quite alone. It was night, and the light of the moon shone wet light across the tiles. There was a noise behind him, and he turned, his fingers twitching with the Armiger in every knuckle.

 

His father stood there with fire on his fingertips and tears in his eyes.

 

Regis looked young, with rich black hair, and less lines in his face. Was this a vision of the past? Noctis almost called for Carbuncle, but he couldn’t move as he took in the sight of his father. He trembled, wishing Regis would make the first move and just hug him already. They stood, opposing each other in silence, until Regis stepped forward, and passed right through Noctis like a ghost. The tracer of fire followed Regis as he made his way up the stairs to the throne. Noctis followed, his heart already dropping as he realised this was just some dream. Probably made by Bahamut to test him or torture him. Noctis wasn’t yet sure of the Draconian’s intention with him.

 

Regis slowed as he reached the throne, and he rested his hand on the arm, tenderly, as if he were touching Noctis’ shoulder. His descent was slow, and Noctis stared with wide eyes as grief pushed Regis to his knees like a heavy hand on his back. Regis’ left hand gripped the arm of the throne, and the Ring of the Lucii gleamed on his ring finger.

 

Noctis had learned years ago that Regis removed his wedding ring in favour of the Ring of the Lucii, and he hated him for it. There had been a set of rings created for his parents’ wedding- beautiful things, lovely white gold and silver with light pink stones- that he had seen in a gleaming memorial to his mother. There was a single photo of them embracing with the rings featured prominently. Regis looked so young, only in his twenties, and Noctis frowned as he saw his own features in his face. There were flowers behind them, from that tree that Regis liked to sit by in the springtime. The white gold and pink ring shone brighter next to the Ring of the Lucii, and it had been put on second. He didn’t even take that damn power symbol off for his own wedding. And then taking the wedding ring off was like throwing away the memory of his queen. He had cursed his father for his indifference, and even viciously wondered if Regis had another love after her. Now that he wore the ring on his own hand, and felt that sick pull of death, of the void, of _nothingness_ , he understood. Noctis wouldn’t want anything pure and good next to it either.

 

A cry broke from Regis’ lips, and he clamped his hands over his mouth, his fingers still alight with flame. There was a strange echo in the room, like a scream from far away. Regis flinched, and then rested his head against the arm of the throne. He looked wretched, with tears streaking down his face, illuminated in sharp relief by the fire he held.

 

“I’m sorry,” Regis said eventually, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, his nails digging into his forehead as he spoke. “I’m sorry. I did it again. You told me to trust in you. I trusted. You died. You died again. Because of me… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Regis gasped, repeating apologies over and over as he moved to put his head down on the seat of the throne, his fingers scratching down the back of the seat, howling half-formed words and apologies. Regis’ cries shook Noctis to the core, and he knelt beside him, but his hands passed right through him. Noctis wondered who Regis could be addressing, possibly his mother?

 

The tiles began to shift beneath them, and Noctis fell through them, reaching up to Regis, who screamed in frustration. The sound was quickly cut short, and Noctis stood in a brightly lit room, presented with a new image. Tenebrae. In Luna’s room. Luna, as a child, stood by the window, wearing her favourite white dress. It had pockets, Noctis remembered, and that was why it was her favourite. Noctis’ heart ached upon seeing her, wishing this was more than just some dream.

 

Regis knelt before her, still young with black hair, looking like he was swearing allegiance, until he fell forward more, pressing his head to the floor at her feet. His shoulders shook, and she looked utterly taken aback. Noctis approached as Luna dropped to her knees.

 

“King Regis, what is the matter? What has happened?” Luna touched his shoulders, urging him to sit up. “Are you hurt?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Regis croaked, lifting his head enough to look at her face. “He- he killed you. I should have- I couldn’t see-” He hid his face, and Luna pulled his hands away, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

 

“Did you have a dream? Of the future?” Luna asked, her voice trembling. “Please, tell me, King Regis. Let me help you.”

 

“It’s- it’s hopeless,” Regis said. “I’ve seen it, I’ve seen it twelve times. I’ve lived those years twelve times and-”

 

“What is it? Let me help,” Luna said, clearing Regis’ hair from his face.

 

“You die everytime. I die. He… my… My little shadow… he…” Regis shuddered, unable to hold her strong gaze. “Can there be a happy end for you two? I’ve tried… how many… How many times do I have to kill him?!” Regis’ question tore from his throat, and Noctis stepped back in surprise, falling back as the floor disappeared. He flipped backwards once, and then landed on solid ground.

 

Another dark room, one he recognised as his own bedroom, and a dream copy of him was asleep in bed, illuminated by the blinking display of his phone on his chest. Prompto had a bad habit of texting him in the middle of the night.

 

Regis stood by the window, holding that sword that Noctis always admired. The gold and black and silver, with the wings. A King’s sword. Silently, with careful steps around the debris of a teenage room, Regis crossed the room, and stood above Noctis’ bed.

 

“Noct…” Regis said softly, and the dream Noctis slept on, unmoving. “Noct… this time is going to fail too. Too many people have died. Should I… Should I end it now…?” Regis held his sword up, positioning the point directly over Noctis’ heart, nudging the phone on his chest. Tears rolled down Regis’ face, and he drew back to strike, stopping short when another text from Prompto came through, a picture message. Noctis, Prompto, Ignis, and Gladio, all shoved together in a photo booth. Noctis recalled that day, even from where he was spectating. It was Ignis’ birthday, and Prompto declared it a national holiday, dragging the four of them to the mall, where a certain restaurant gave people free meals on their birthday. Ignis was less than impressed with the whole affair, but he did laugh, which only seemed to spur Prompto on more. Gladio never missed an opportunity to skip out on palace duties, and so the four of them had shirked all of their responsibilities for the day to run around the city.

 

Regis pulled his sword away, holding it loosely at his side as he examined the picture of the four of them. Noctis was laughing, and Gladio had his arm around him, Prompto was making a strange face, and Ignis was grinning too, fixing his askew glasses.

 

“You… you will not be alone,” Regis said, dismissing his blade. He looked at his hands, stepping back. “Even without me… you will not be alone. They have to go with you. I see.”

 

Noctis blinked slowly, and with every one, his surroundings changed.

 

Regis, lying in his own bed on the left side while the right was covered by a bright white wedding dress. A tiara sat on the pillow above the dress, and a white bridal glove rested in Regis’ upturned palm, as if they were holding hands.

 

Shards of glass in the courtyard, and Regis lying face down amidst them, his Armiger plunged into the ground around him. A long track of blood ran from his head towards the flowering tree.

 

Piles of books and pages upon pages of his father’s handwriting. Regis, asleep at his desk, next to a photo of them together, where Noctis was actually smiling.

 

Regis next to the flowering tree, nearly asleep as sunshine splintered above him. He held the wedding rings up to the light, and then closed them in his fist, pressing them to his chest. “I promise, Aulea… I promise I will find the happy end.”

 

The images blurred, spinning past days and nights and years, but one thing was consistent, the images were all the places where his father cried.


	3. Theory Ally

 

_Loop ??5_

_Happy End_

_Rule 1: Lunafreya must survive the meeting in Altissia._

_Rule 2: Noctis cannot be alone. He must be accompanied by his friends. To the very end._

_Rule 3: I am the only one permitted to die to achieve the happy end._

 

_Loop ??6, M.E. 744_

_No one is more important than the Oracle. She is the only one who can save us from the darkness without the loss of the Chosen. By her grace, and the grace of Eos within her, we may yet again see another dawn with the little shadow._

_Never lose your Queen in the blitz._

_Control the middle of the board._

_Even if we must suffer another Knight’s Tour._

 

“King Regis?”

Ignis’ voice, still a child. It was becoming hard to keep track of how old anyone was at any given time. Regis knew his face well as a young man, an adult, that proud shining man that smiled and bowed. That man that treasured Noct, cared for him, held their family together time and again. And time and again, he would suffer, he would endure such pain. Once or twice he sought to relieve the heavy burden on Noct’s heart.

That time, in the sun. They even repaired the west windows. That was as close as they had ever gotten, and still Regis chose more time. Chose more pain, more suffering, more opportunities to stab his own son in the heart. Would it have been better to take the second happiest end? Impossible to say. How many restarts was that now?

“King Regis, am I interrupting?”

“No, Ignis…” Regis didn’t move, but lolled his head to the side, casting his eyes to the door. Ignis was half behind it, wearing his pajamas. “Come in.”

Ignis entered, and quietly shut the door behind him before taking a few cautious steps towards Regis’ desk. “Pardon my intrusion at this late hour.”

At that, Regis smiled a bit. Ignis’ formal speech sounded odd in a child’s voice. Regis recalled a night much like this one, more than once, another echo of a past repeat. Ordinarily, Ignis would scold Noct’s manners and his inattention to his studies. Mundane things. “It’s alright, Ignis.”

Ignis folded his hands behind his back, and hesitated a moment before attempting to speak. He trembled instead, and moved his hands to his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to stifle a sob. His shoulders hitched up and he curled in on himself as tears fell.

Something different.

Regis sat up instantly from where he had been slumped with half a bottle of wine, hurrying to Ignis’ side. After a moment’s hesitation, he placed his hands on Ignis’ shoulders, rubbing gently with his thumbs.

“My dear, my dear Ignis, what’s the matter? What happened? A dream?”

Ignis nodded, still trying in vain to calm himself. Regis slowly placed his right hand on the side of Ignis’ head, running his fingers through his hair. Ignis smelled of the evening baths, a floaty scent of lavender. Soothing, countering the wine on Regis’ breath. “A nightmare? It’s alright now… just your mind playing tricks.”

Ignis shook his head, finally lowering his hands from his mouth. “It was so real,” he whispered, his eyes shut tight.

“The worst kind of nightmare,” Regis said, continuing to run his fingers through Ignis’ hair. “Would you like to tell me, or would you prefer to let it fade?”

“I- I have to tell you.”

Regis furrowed his brow, his movements given pause. “What do you mean?”

Ignis finally opened his eyes, and Regis’ heart ached for the lush green wilds, always reminded of them when he looked at that brilliant colour.

“It’s… I saw… something strange.”

Something different. Something different was happening. Regis’ heart gave a little thrill, before he cursed his own elation at Ignis’ pain just because it was something new. Regis nodded, hardly daring to hope for an ally. Ignis had worn the Ring before. More than once. Regis had vouched for him as he vouched for Nyx. Perhaps… perhaps something remained with the restart.

“I saw… Noct, but he… he looked like you. I knew it was him. He smiled the same way, you know? It was him, for sure. But he… he was sad, and it was dark, and everything smelled like the sea. But in a bad way. Something… something rotten,” Ignis said, another sob breaking from his lips before he covered his mouth again. “And… and I s-saw you! And an old man. And a lady. And a soldier. Hanging from the ceiling-!”

Regis held his breath, knowing exactly what Ignis meant. Exactly. Down to the last detail. The creak of the chains, the weight of the bodies. He had spent far too long in that room. Waiting… waiting to see the outcome of every restart.

Iedolas, the bishop, blinded by his own greed, and the darkness seeping into his ears at night, whispering words of conquest, power, and absolute rule. Thrown away when diagonal lines and puppeteering no longer suited the real King.

Nyx, the hero of his own tale, and many others besides. His knight, he had lost when he was so close to a checkmate. So close, but the loss of too many pieces around him forced Nyx to a sacrifice to the Kings, and even Regis’ appeals and approvals weren’t enough to keep him on the board.

Luna.

His heart ached, for her more than anyone. The Queen- the girl who should have lived and loved as she pleased, because no one had deserved it more.

Her white dress, stained. Neither a bride nor an Oracle.

All the fault of the King of Lucis.

“Ignis…”

“Something burned my throat. It tasted like ink?” Ignis shook his head, wiping his eyes. “And I fell down. But then, I saw myself? But older, and- and I was hurt, my eyes. So how could I see?” Ignis seemed to regain himself, biting his lip and taking a shuddery breath. “I think… I think it was real, King Regis.”

Regis closed his eyes, drawing in a long breath. “I think you are right.”

Ignis gave no indication of surprise, but his face became more serious. “Is it… the future?”

“The past,” Regis said, bowing his head under the weight of those years. The worst ending. _Trust in me._

“The past? But I was older, Noct was older. You were-”

“The past.” Regis stood then, returning to his seat. “Thank you for telling me this, Ignis.”

“I’m… you’re not just humouring me.”

“No.”

“What does it mean to you?”

Regis laced his fingers in front of his mouth, surveying Ignis before looking down and away. “Perhaps I won’t be alone in this.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m trying… to fix it.”

Ignis simply stared.

“What you saw. It happened. More than once.”

“Why?”

It was a disarming question, and Regis gaped a moment before sighing. “Because of me.”

“What does that mean?”

“It is… difficult to explain.”

Ignis frowned, and approached, his face much too serious for his rumpled hair and purple pajamas. “For Noct?”

Regis nodded.

“Then there is nothing more to explain to me.”

There was a long silence before Ignis spoke again.

“What can I do?”

 

_Loop ??7, M.E. 749_

_Last loop. Failed. Luna died in Altissia. Ignis wore the Ring, but it burned him from the inside. I saw out his eyes as they burned out of his head. Noct cried. Prompto cried. Gladio cried. Cannot lose this bishop. Thoughts of not sacrificing the knight Nyx. Perhaps one more guard for Luna. Message to Libertus to not let her go alone if Nyx dies. Save Crowe? Research how Crowe is killed. Luna may survive under the protection of the Auburnbrie family, specifically Crowe. Crowe’s death may have been the one to prevent. Or perhaps Sylva’s. The one attempt to save Sylva resulted in Noct and Luna’s capture. Unacceptable. Perhaps next loop I might run away with Noct again. I haven’t done that since Loop ??2._

_If only I could go back to M.E.731 just for a day. Carbuncle’s powers weaken with every loop, though. I fear even the attempt would undo all we have done._

_Rule 1: Lunafreya must survive the meeting in Altissia._

_Rule 2: Noctis cannot be alone. He must be accompanied by his friends. To the very end._

_Rule 3: I am the only one permitted to die to achieve the happy end._

 

The rules had burned themselves in his mind, more than any of the other speculations or ideas. Every loop he would find that notebook he had received from Aulea and he would record his thoughts. It was blank every time. But he would fill in as much as he could remember.

Last time, Ignis had done more than ever before, his green eyes darkened with visions of the last loop. Regis dared to hope for Ignis to aid him again, waiting every night with his notebook open. Waiting for a tentative knock, for Ignis to visit with tears in his eyes.

He was too old now, already a strong young man, serious and straight-backed. Regis looked forward to when Prompto’s presence brightened Ignis’ face. It was always a fun year. Ignis would be more rebellious than ever, his rigidity shaken by Noct and Prompto.

Regis bent over his notebook again, continuing.

_Perhaps it would make sense to welcome Prompto into the fold before 751._

A knock at the door. Regis thought a moment, expecting Cor. It was about time for him to show up.

“King Regis?”

Ignis? Regis looked up, gently placing his pen beside his notebook. “Ah, Ignis, please come in.”

Echoing the past loop, but older this time, Ignis entered, and quietly shut the door behind him before taking a few cautious steps towards Regis’ desk. “Pardon my intrusion at this late hour.”

Regis shook his head, and waved Ignis over to his desk.

“I must tell you something,” Ignis said, resting his hand on the edge of Regis desk. Ignis’ eyes were red and puffy, and Regis stared, hardly daring to hope.

“Speak.”

“I had a dream- no, a vision.”

“A vision,” Regis repeated.

“Y-yes.” Ignis cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I- ah…” Tears fell. Ignis wiped them away hastily, but they didn’t cease. Regis stood, already digging his handkerchief from his pocket. Ignis covered his mouth just the same way he did in the last loop.

“Here, sit down,” Regis said softly, guiding Ignis to the small sofa nearby. Ignis took a few moments to collect himself, and in that time, Regis had draped a blanket around his shoulders. “Take your time.”

“I- I need to tell you…” Ignis voice shook, cracking just a bit in its new deepness. “I need to tell you something.”

“Take some deep breaths,” Regis said, pulling the blanket around to the front and running his hands up and down Ignis’ upper arms.

“It’s… about Noct.”

A surge of fear seized Regis’ heart, still so new and paternal even through all the loops. “What is it?”

“I saw… I saw something. A vision. Luna, and her dog. A voice. A horrible voice. It said… It said ‘many sacrificed all for the King, so must the King sacrifice himself for all.’ And… I saw… ghosts.”

“They killed him. On the throne.”

Ignis gasped, and looked up at Regis, his green eyes wide. “What? How do you-”

“Do you remember a nightmare like this when you were a child?”

Ignis furrowed his brow, thinking. “I… I don’t know.”

Regis stood, fidgeting with the Ring of the Lucii on his finger, knowing how the radiant light burned Ignis from the inside out, time and again. How it had taken his eyes, his vision for the future, the one thing he lived for more than anything, to see Noctis sat upon the throne that was his right. Even in a future where Noct would sit upon the throne, Ignis would never see the sight he cherished. That was the price, the guarantee the Knights of the Round demanded of him, more than his life. They determined that Ignis valued Noct’s survival and ascension more than his own life. Such was the way with the payments. One payment meant something different to each who dared to put the Ring on.

Ignis raised his head. “I don’t remember.”

Meeting Ignis’ gaze unblinkingly, Regis raised his left hand, and touched the crystal of the Ring to Ignis’ forehead.

Colours. Rushing sounds. The Crystal. An hourglass, shattering and repairing itself. The Knights of the Round, flying through Noctis’ body into Reflection, where the Usurper awaited. The goal complete. Again. Again. Again. The sound of a father’s heart exploding in his chest. The Judges, stood in somber ambivalence. Watching. Daring the King of Kings to try again. How many times could his heart explode before he didn’t have the strength to put it back together?

Fire. Not fire. Light. Radiant holy light. Up his arm, across his chest, around his neck like brittle fingers. His eyes. They saw. But they didn’t. The last thing Ignis ever saw was Noctis.

A different light. The Crystal. The painted face of the Usurper. A laugh, a dramatic reenactment. This was the time they cried as they held him. Their brother, their love, their best friend, the one that would scold them and make them eat veggies, the one who made sure they were well taken care of and they loved him. It was almost too much.

_Many sacrificed all for the King, so must the King sacrifice himself for all._

“No!” Ignis shouted, pulling his face away from the point of contact. He was pale, sweating. “No, I can’t--” He shuddered, and his energy fell away all at once. Without another word, he slumped to the side.

Regis looked down at him, his heart pounding.

“I am sorry, Ignis.”


End file.
